Dick Move
by Rhanon Brodie
Summary: 'I'd never seen her in the bar before. She didn't fit in; her kind didn't fit in: too young, maybe, too innocent for certain.' Connor POV. Could be categorized as angst, but after the fact.


_A/N: Where the feck is all the Connor love? Sure, I'm Murphy girl (I've got him washing my dishes right now), but he did let me know that his twin has been feeling a little left out as of late. He doesn't feel like taking the back seat, and he doesn't fee like sharing anyone right now. So I talked to Connor (because obviously I need to get out of the house more) and he relayed this tale to me. Not his best moment, but shit happens, and we're none of us angels all the time._

* * *

I'd never seen her in the bar before. She didn't fit in; her kind didn't fit in: too young, maybe, too innocent for certain. I'd bet me rosary that whiskey'd never passed her lips before steppin' in ta McGinty's. But there she was, suddenly, terribly. I couldn't look away, either, an' Murphy elbowed me a handful of times to remind me that I was starin'. Couldn't help it, really. I mean, what was a girl like her doin' in a place like this? I asked her as much, when my veins were more whiskey than blood, and the back of my neck was burnin'. I shoulda stopped then, shoulda have backed away when she blushed and fiddled with the straps of the purse she clutched close to her body. Her friend, she'd replied, was tryin' something fierce to loosen her up.

An' just like that, I'd found a stool, hauled it up next to her, an' bought her a proper drink, pushing aside the dainty vodka and soda. There was a wary quiver in her voice that should have sent me packin'. It made my resolve burn in my chest, along with the shot of whiskey I knocked back. I nudged the one I'd ordered for her towards her with a knuckle and was sure to lengthen my brogue accordingly. The familiar weight of my twin's gaze settled on me and I glanced up to see him watching us, his eyes narrowed. He knew without a doubt that tha girl was too young and way outta her element. I waved him off. I was on a right tear tonight, I could feel it in my bones. Murphy afforded me one more moderately disgusted look, and then picked up his drink and his cigarettes and left me there with the girl.

Maybe if Murphy had stayed, I wouldn't have urged the girl to drink the whiskey I'd ordered for her and followed it with two more. I smoked cigarette after cigarette, ignoring the pointed way she waved the smoke aside. If she didn't like it, she coulda moved.

I was too drunk to really care beyond tha fact that her tits were smaller than I liked. I preferred brunettes, and she was a blonde, dark and plain, blue eyes that were nothin' more than blue. Buttoned up, too, turtle neck, knee length skirt, flat shoes.

Cotton panties that I pushed aside, touching her hotly in the back of McGinty's, down the hall from the bathrooms where the light had been burned out. She could kiss, although hesitation laced each breath she gasped as I rubbed her clit between two fingers. Her pulse was like a jackrabbit's. On a whim, I twisted my wrist, sank a finger up into eye-crossing tightness. That spot in a woman's cunny, tha one that makes her gush like a fountain? Found it on the third stroke, an' I don't know who was more surprised: the girl quaking in my hands, her cheeks hot from arousal, or embarrassment, or both; or me, kissing her roughly, tongue down her throat, one hand tugging at my belt, the other still working her soaked folds. She was fuckin' tight; I didn't recall any woman I'd shagged recently being this fuckin' tight.

Now, here's when I really shoulda known somethin' more was up. But I was drunk, and she was so fuckin' willin', so goddamn ready for me ta just fuck her right there, that I did just that. She was tight, making me gasp, making her jerk with a sudden choked yelp. I don't have a small cock, all right? Had girls wince, moan, shake, scream, and yelp before. I did pause, always do, check to procced. Why tha fuck didn't she say no?

I woulda stopped. I'm not some fuckin' brute that doesn't give a shit about a woman's wellbeing. I like to tell myself I woulda been able to stop, had she said so. If I'm honest with meself, I don't think I coulda. She felt too good, after too long. She kinda held her breath at first, staring down at me with wonder in her eyes. I pushed her sweater up under her arms, her bra nothing more than somethin' ta keep her tits in place. I hazily registered a small silver crucifix hangin' on a chain, and I threw up a hasty prayer that I'd bagged a nice Catholic girl fer once. She'd keened, twisted in my arms, an' I know I held her up, held her hands over her head, fucked her thoroughly until I came so hard I thought my eyes would bleed an' skull would explode. She didn't come, though she shook somethin' awful in my arms when I finally stilled. When I pulled back, she looked dazed, an' maybe skittish. She unwound my hands from her wrists. It was too dark to really see, but I knew she was blushin', she stuttered her way through some excuse an' slipped out of the hallway, leavin' me ta tuck meself back inta my pants. I strolled back inta tha bar like nothin' was outta tha ordinary. Hands in my pockets. Noddin' in Murphy's direction as his gaze wandered to tha door.

She was there, hurriedly yankin' her coat on, whisperin' somethin' to her friend. But she looked back at me, so cool, suddenly, an' only minutes before she'd been shakin' against me. She disarmed me with that look; she told me what she really thought o'me. The appearance of Murphy at my side drew my attention for a moment; when I looked back, she was gone, and Murph was growlin' in my ear.

"Couldn't keep it in yer pants fer one night?"

I couldn't believe the words comin' out o'his mouth. He was just as bad as me, worse, sometimes, and I reminded him of the time he fingered a pretty brunette in the back booth not two weeks before. At least, I hissed, I had tha fuckin' decency ta do my work outta sight.

Murphy squinted hard and took hold of my jacket, haulin' me back until I collided wit tha bar with a shout.

"Jesus, Connor, yer such a fuckin' prick sometimes," he breathed hotly.

"What tha fuck, Murph?" I asked, because honestly, I couldn't understand why he was so pissed. I shoved him back. "Getta hold o'yerself."

"Ah, piss off, ya stupid cunt." He shook me once fer good measure an' stormed out.

I stayed for one more whiskey. When I got back to our flat, he was there, curled on his mattress, back to tha door, probably so he wouldn't hafta talk to me. I snorted angrily in his direction and pulled my clothes off, heading for the shower.

It was under the tepid spray of water that I noticed it: blood. It wasn't a lot, but it streaked my lower belly and tinged the sides of my cock a reddish brown. I swallowed thickly. She'd been tight – too tight. An' she'd been so…petrified, halfway between fear and loathin' an' excitement. She could kiss, but not well, like she needed practice.

An' she was young; too young ta be in a bar.

My stomach plummeted and I caught myself on the tiles as my guts heaved once. The whiskey started to make my legs sluggish an' I shook my head, sticking it under the water once more before crankin' off the pressure.

"How did ya know?" I asked Murph as I sank down to my mattress an lit a cigarette.

A snort rose up from his mattress, but he didn't turn over. "Didn't even recognize her?"

I scowled. "Should I have?"

"Coulda saved ya a load of trouble."

"Would it have made a difference?"

Murphy finally turned, though only part way. "You tell me." Then, he rolled back over and began to snore steadily.

I didn't sleep well. We had mass in tha mornin'; Murphy still wasn't sayin' more than four or five words to me as we walked to tha church. He dragged me up front, instead of towards tha back where we usually sat, an' as we stood with tha rest of the congregation as the choir filed in, followed by the clergy, Murphy elbowed me once and nodded to the string of teenagers that made up the back row of the choir. Didn't see the big deal at first. The girls were plain, hair tied back or braided, little crucifixes restin' on the fronts of their blouses and high collared sweaters.

Her eyes, so painfully plain and blue last night, were suddenly cobalt, hard as ice, and boring right through me.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda, Ma used ta say. Didn't much matter, the damage was done.

She didn't say no.

But I should have known better.


End file.
